Impossible Acceptance
by SimplyHermione
Summary: Sometimes when we fall in love, we come to accept the darkest parts of others we never thought possible. And sometimes, through their influences we even begin to accept those parts within ourselves. HGDM with some GWBZ.
1. The Beginning

**Disclaimer: The characters and any references to the books are purely J. K. Rowling's. I'm only responsible for the plot. Please don't sue... I don't have the money for that.**

I believe one of the most dangerous forms of society is acceptance. Not acceptance itself, necessarily, but the tolerance and then the desensitization that results. The way we become so used to things we never before considered is inherently dangerous as humans, given we're beings formed on the basis of choice. We have a choice between who we are and who we become, even from birth. Some choices are limited. Some are more free. Some choose to limit themselves, and some choose to let themselves go wherever it is the wind decides to take them.

For my part, I've always chosen the path that restricts me more than sets me free. Growing up and especially throughout Hogwarts, I always found comfort in my self-imposed security. I sought out education and learning, in any form I could take it, above all else. I always wanted to better myself. I always wanted to help more people. I always wanted to be where I could be to do the most good for the Order and for Harry and Ron. I always, no matter the circumstances, valued my own education within the magical realm and the ability to defend against all Dark Arts above all else.

In any given situation, I've been so completely against the darker side of magic that I never before even considered it a possibility. I never gave it a second thought. I never, in all my years as Prefect, Head Girl, know-it-all Granger, considered any other option. I never thought of any other way.

That is, until now.

Let me start at the beginning.

* * *

I find myself in a little corner of Hog's Head with Ginny next to me and the two least likely males I ever expected to find in front of me. 

I think what gets me the most is that Ginny knows, she knows, that if I knew who she was dragging me here to meet, I'd never have come. But she wanted to see Blaise. She wanted to see Blaise and she wanted to continue whatever it was they're starting, and she had to drag me into it so she could. His friend, she called him, had wanted someone to talk to while they did whatever it was they were planning to do. The night was supposed to start with drinks at Hog's Head (completely disregarding the fact that I don't drink on principle alone), then progress to wherever it was they wanted to progress.

I had made it perfectly clear, even while I put on my makeup and got myself ready for the night, that I was under no circumstances going to just snog some disgusting bloke senseless because Ginny wanted her time alone with Blaise. I was not going to be made the harlot to whoever this bloke was. She nodded in agreement, promising that all would be well and she wouldn't leave me alone unless I was comfortable with him.

But she refused to tell me just who "him" was.

By the look on his face, Blaise hadn't told Draco Malfoy who I was either.

I entered the room, and his face mangled into some sort of snarl that I had a sneaking suspicion mirrored mine. I saw him turn to Blaise, whispering something fiercely into his ear that I was near-on certain had the word "mudblood" within it. Blaise whispered something back, just as fiercely, and Malfoy just glared.

The men stood as we entered, Malfoy extending his hand to me as though it pained him, flinching at my touch as I accepted the shake. "Evening, Granger," he forced himself to say.

"Evening, Malfoy," I said through my own gritted teeth.

"So how long has it been since you two were acquainted?" Blaise asked as we sat, obviously trying to alleviate the immediate tension.

"Not long enough," Malfoy muttered.

"I don't know for certain, Blaise," I said in a voice that was entirely too sweet, "that you could really call what Malfoy and I were _acquainted_. It was more of... let me think." I paused. "... mutual hatred?"

My glare was matched just as fiercely by Malfoy's, and that is how I found myself in this tense silence.

Ginny and Blaise are talking sweetly to one another, clearly more interested in the up and coming snog than in the awkward tension boiling between their two dinner mates.

Malfoy is downing firewhiskey like his life depended on it.

And here I am, calmly and serenely throwing daggers at the man across from me. How in the world did I let Ginny talk me into this?

And now I remember:

_"Come with me, Hermione. It'll be so much fun," she said excitedly._

_"I doubt that," I said politely, cradling my latest read. "I'd rather stay here with my book, thanks." _

_"But this whole thing with Blaise is so new, and so exciting, and so..."_

_"Deranged?"_

_Ginny looked shocked._

_"Ginny, come on," I said quietly. "He's a Slytherin. He's a pureblooded bigot and you know that just as well as I do. He believes in nothing the same as we do, and he's purely and utterly content in his shallow nature."_

_"Hermione," she said, looking quite exasperated. "That was years ago. We graduated_ **5_ years_** _ago. Can't you leave the past well enough alone?"_

_"And how do you know he's changed all that much, Ginny?" I asked. "How do you know he's really all that different?"_

_"I don't," she admitted quietly. Then a gleam came to her eye. "But he sure is a great snog."_

_I rolled my eyes, regretting it the moment I agreed._

I regret it even more now, as I watch Malfoy's eyes get more and more bloodshot with each drink of the amber liquid. This is nowhere I ever wanted to be.

"Hey, I have a great idea," Blaise says a little louder than the tone he's been using with Ginny. His tone snaps me from my thoughts, and I look up at him.

Once he sees he has our attention, he says, "My flat is so much more comfortable than these blasted booths." He wiggles himself on the hard wood, looking discontent. "What say we take a trip there to continue?"

"More firewhiskey?" is Draco's only question. At Blaise's consent, he nods his head.

Ginny is, of course, in agreement, which leaves it to me.

I again find myself regretting the moment I agree.

* * *

Blaise's flat is tiny. Absolutely tiny, which is surprising. 

I'm on a couch seated right next to Malfoy, and I'm squished up next to him because the couch is one of those two-cushion ones that looks like it once belonged to a full couch. Blaise and Ginny are sharing a chair not far from us, still enwrapped in one another disgustingly.

It's late.

I vaguely hear Ginny say something about needing to use the loo, and I see Blaise escort her out.

"They won't be back for a while," Draco mutters.

"I figured," I respond.

"Possibly not until morning," he adds.

"Of course," I say.

"Might as well get comfortable," he says.

I look at him questioningly and he shrugs, his eyes still bloodshot from the flask in his hand.

Neither of us say a word for a few moments. I feel him sink a bit deeper into the couch, making my cushion lean over to his. Our shoulders touch, and I'm too exhausted to consider minding the contact.

* * *

I wake up a little later to find a warm arm around my body. I'm uncomfortable with being so close to Malfoy, but it's cold and I can't see a blanket. He's warm, so I let his arm stay. 

I look up at his face, and I'm surprised at how relaxed he looks. Not handsome, mind you, but just at rest. His jaw isn't set in anger; his brow isn't furrrowed; his eyes aren't glaring; his lips aren't in that smirk. He's just at rest.

I hear a moan come from what must be Blaise's bedroom, and I cringe noticeably.

My movement wakes Malfoy, and he moves his arm a little tighter around me without opening his eyes.

Neither of us speak, though, and I soon drift off to sleep again.

* * *

A while later, I awake in a sort of daze. There is warmth around me, and I like the feeling. I feel a warm, caressing hand on my cheek, and I lean into it without opening my eyes. 

I lean up as it guides me, feeling a man's cheek caress mine. I move my head gently in response, and I feel warm, soft lips on mine.

It's a sweet, gentle kiss, and I let it happen. My eyes are still closed, immersed in the sensation.

It's one gentle kiss after another in a seamless, flowing pace.

His lips caress mine, and mine caress his. The slight moisture between us is just enough, and yet nowhere near too much.

It's little kisses over and over, making my head spin.

I'm leaning into him, kissing and kissing and wrapping my arms around to tangle my hands in his hair.

My body lifts a little to join more seamlessly with his, and it's still the little kisses.

Over and over, and I lose track of time. It's the best kissing I've ever had, and I find myself not wanting to stop.

Slowly, though, my lips begin to separate from his.

My eyes begin to open, slowly, and I find myself looking into deep grey eyes clouded with emotion.

The shock hits me less than a second later.

I just fully, completely, enjoyed a slight snog with Malfoy.

* * *

**A/N: Hey everyone, let me know what you think. This story may start out slow, but it should get progressively more involved as it continues. Thanks!**


	2. Distracted

**Disclaimer: It's J.K. Rowling's world. I just play.**

It's the following morning. The beautiful rays of the sun trickle through the curtains of Blaise's loft, offering a stark contrast to the lingering scent of firewhiskey in the air. Ginny emerges, looking content, a few moments after I wake.

Malfoy wakes as she comes into the room, stretching and looking around to orient himself.

Our eyes don't meet.

Ginny and I speak briefly, discussing our arrangements home. She leaves again to go say good-bye to Blaise.

Malfoy and I are left alone in our awkwardness.

"So, Granger," he starts.

I put up my hand to stop him.

"Don't," I say, softer than I intended. "You don't have to explain."

"Right," he says quickly, and I feel his temper rising next to me.

My mind is a blur of the night before. The warmth he offered, that amazing sequence of kisses. Was that really Draco Malfoy I was kissing? Were his lips really on mine? Did I really, truly _enjoy _that?

"You know, Granger," he begins again, but this time I don't stop him. "You snog better than expected for a mudblood."

My blood curdles at his words, meant to be joking but so entirely inappropriate.

"You don't snog so bad yourself, for an ignorant inbred," I snap back at him.

He smirks. I hate that smirk.

"So say I wanted to snog again sometime and I was in the mood for something a little dirtier than my norm..."

I scoff, more than slightly embarassed at the smile about to betray my scowl.

"Can I get a contact or something?" he asks, that cocky tone still abound.

I tell myself repeatedly there is no possible way this is a good idea, even as my hand writes the address to my flat.

* * *

Ginny and I are back at my flat an hour later, discussing the night's events. 

"So, let me get this straight," she says, appearing confused. "You and Malfoy, you and Draco Malfoy, snogged last night?"

I don't answer.

"Completely, fully snogged?"

I still don't answer, but I feel the blush come up my cheeks.

"So was he any good?" She moves her head a bit, trying to catch my eye.

I do the best I can to avoid her gaze, but she catches it just as I'm about to look the other direction. I know she senses the glint in my eyes, and I bite my lip to not agree out loud.

"Un-freaking-believable," she whispers, throwing herself back on the couch.

"You're telling me," I mutter.

"So are you two going to see each other again?" she asks, though she seems a bit unsure of whether she wants the answer.

"He has the address to the flat," I say, offering no other information.

"Wow," she says, shaking her head. "Me and Blaise. You and Malfoy."

"I am _not _with Malfoy," I say strongly, believing it with every ounce of my being. "Only a right git would hook up with the likes of him."

"Right," she says quietly, but I can tell she doesn't believe a word I say.

* * *

I spend the rest of that day in a bit of a shock, but nonetheless getting down to the rest of my business. I have a promising internship with the Ministry of Magic that may well prove to be the focus for my career. I work for Ron's father, researching muggle artifacts and the many ways wizards can make them go wrong. 

I'm currently working on this project that involves a poor old wizard in Northern Ireland who accidentally levitated his house, basement and all, when he had only been aiming for one particularly nasty fairy that had baited him to his front porch. He did indeed succeed in levitating the fairy, but his entire residence along with it. Given he lives in a rather populated area in a rather large city, we're working to track down all the muggles who might have seen the "Mysterious Floating House," as the muggle tabloids called it, and perform the necessary memory charms to render the entire episode as just another false story in the eyes of the public.

We get cases like this all the time. My job is almost always to track down all the possible muggles who might have been involved in such an incident, interview them properly yet without suspicion, and perform the necessary memory charms if need be. Since I come from a muggle background, I'm one of the more suited interns for this sort of project.

Tonight, I'm looking into the muggle housing unit where the man is directly located and searching through to compile a complete list of the muggles in the area. Our only saving grace is that the man was only able to levitate the property about 20 meters or so.

Usually I'm a complete and utter perfectionist with my work. I do my work quickly and efficiently, and I am always ahead by weeks. Tonight, though, I'm distracted.

I'm distracted, I can't quite think straight, and I therefore turn in for bed just as I finish my work throughout the rest of the coming week.

Last night was such a bad idea.

* * *

It's early the next morning, and I'm thinking about him. I utterly cannot stand the idea that I'm thinking about him. He's arrogant. He's pureblooded in that inbred kind of way. He's proud of his ignorance. He's the epitome of everything I never want to become. 

And he's a bloody amazing kisser.

I hate that I'm looking out the window in case his owl comes. I don't even know what his owl looks like. I hate that I'm listening for the slightest knock on the door. I hate that any part of me is at all curious, even in the least bit, about him. I hate that I'm considering him. I hate that I let last night happen. But most of all, I hate that it was so good.

I scoff at myself, trying to ignore the sensation of his lips on mine that refuses to go away. I try even harder to convince myself this curiousity will, in time, most definitely kill the cat. And in this instance, I'm showing remarkably feline tendencies.

I tell myself that he's most likely one of Voldemort's leftover followers. I try to tell myself that he's most likely one of Lucius's most faithful followers in some kind of up and coming regime. I remind myself of all those terrible things Voldemort did, and all the terrible things in which Malfoy specifically played a role.

I try to tell myself of all the things Malfoy is probably still involved in, being a prat the least of all.

I tell myself he knows all sorts of things I'd never want to know. He's involved in all sorts of things I'd never, for the life of me, wish to be involved in. He's involved in parts of the world I'd rather not know exist, and probably in some parts I don't know about at all. Parts I'm better off not knowing.

I tell myself it's a bad idea. I tell myself over and over that it's a bad idea.

But that doesn't stop my heart from skipping a beat when I see a graceful grey owl pecking at my window. That doesn't stop me from opening the parchment that reads:

_My flat. 7:00 pm, tonight. _

_I'll be there to apparate you at exactly 7:00. Don't be late._

_D.M._

It also doesn't stop me from taking my parchment, dipping my quill, and writing out a response:

_I'll be here._

_H.G._

And it doesn't stop me from placing that parchment gently in that beautiful grey owl's beak, stroking its feathers lightly, and watching it fly away into the beautiful sunrise beyond.

* * *

**A/N: Quick update, I know. And short, I suppose, but that seemed like a good place to stop. I'm interested in this one, and I figured I'd better keep it going while I have the motivation. Let me know what you think!**


	3. Curiousity

**Disclaimer: It's J.K. Rowling's world. I'm not her. Hence, it's not mine. It all works like that.**

"You're going over there?" Ginny asks in astonishment from her living room. My head is partially in her fireplace, and we're having a chat about my plans for the evening.

"I suppose I am," I reply, shrugging even though she can't see it.

"Are you certain this is a good idea?" she asks with concern in her voice.

"Well of course it's not," I say sharply.

She laughs, much to my annoyance.

"So why, then?" she asks after seeing the look I give her.

I shrug again, briefly noting that she couldn't see that either. "I don't really know," I admit instead.

"Curiousity?" she asks.

I nod slowly.

"Yeah," she said softly. "That's how it always starts."

I look at her questioningly.

"With Blaise and I, that's how it started," she says. "I was curious, and he was curious, and then all the sudden we were snogging one another senseless in the back booth of some muggle cafe we'd stumbled upon."

I laughed, shaking my head at her. "And what of the two of you now?" I ask.

"Now?" She pauses for a moment, her brow furrowing a bit. "Now, I really don't know."

I nodded.

"But he's a great snog."

I laugh, shaking my head at her. "A bit like Malfoy?" I ask wryly, glad she can't see my blush through the fire.

She shakes her head, trying to hide her smile. "Well good luck, then," she says softly. "I'll be thinking of you."

I nod again. "I'll owl you when I return," I say.

"You'd better," she replies, and I catch the hint of that smile on her lips as I come back to my own flat.

* * *

I'm sitting on the couch in my flat about an hour later, reviewing the project about the bloke who accidentally levitated his house, when I hear the knock on the door. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I put down my papers and go to answer. 

"Evening, Granger," Malfoy says at the door with surprisingly less malice than the night before.

"Evening," I respond shortly, shutting the door to my flat as I join him on my porch.

He holds his arm out to me and I take it as I feel the familiar pull of apparition.

* * *

I find myself inside his flat, which is also surprisingly small. It consists of a living room with a couch, chair, coffee table, and fireplace, a kitchen with all the basic essentials if he ever wanted to cook the muggle way, and a small hallway leading to his bedroom, I assume, as well as the loo. 

Once inside the living room, he offers me a cup of tea. It's obvious he asks more out of habit than sincerity.

I accept, and he leaves me to the room as he goes to prepare it.

Looking around, I figure I shouldn't really be surprised at the vast array of emerald green combined with the serpents all over. The couch, for instance, is a dark emerald green with silvery swirls embroidered into it that all contain the tiniest serpent heads at the ends of them. The arms of the couches have carved wooden serpent bodies, with their heads reaching to the tops of them. The wooden heads remind me strangely of Lucius Malfoy's cane, and I shiver slightly. The chair is a matching set to the couch.

I look at the embroidered rug in the center of the room, and it, too, is emblazoned with serpents. At closer inspection, I realize it is none other than the crest of the Slytherin house.

Just as I am realizing the exact nature of how bad of an idea coming here was, Malfoy enters with the tea. He sets it up on the coffee table in front of the couch, gesturing for me to join him.

I sit next to him on the couch, hopefully far enough away for him to understand that I have indeed decided this is not a good plan. He hands me the cup I am to use, then asks how I take my tea.

Again, it's not so much politeness as it is the marked training of pureblood society.

I sit with my tea in silence for a moment, unsure of what to say. After a few moments, I decide I can't take the silence.

"Why did you ask me here?" I ask.

He shrugs, looking into his cup. Then he turns his head and his grey eyes lock with mine. My breath catches involuntarily in my throat, and he says, simply, "Curiousity."

A few moments later, our tea cups are sitting on his table and I again find myself just next to him on the couch. His hand is on the side of my face and there's a voice in my head saying this is a bad idea. There is no way on this Earth that this could ever possibly be a good idea.

Then his lips are on mine again, and I'm melting. This time it's Malfoy and I know it's his lips that are covering mine, massaging them even, and I'm still melting. I'm letting his hands run through my hair, and I'm feeling my hands go into his as well.

His tongue is just within the inner portion of my lip, and mine is coming forward to meet his. They massage one another gently, completely, and the moan that escapes my lips is already in the air before I can catch it.

We're even closer together than before, and I'm nearly in his lap and still with the kissing. Our tongues are intertwined and seem content to not come apart regardless of what my brain tries to tell them. I'm dizzy again. My head is spinning and my world is just a little out of balance and it's Malfoy, and I'm melting.

We break for air some time later, and my head continues to reel. "Curiousity?" I ask softly.

"Indeed," he says.

I simply nod my head.

"That," he adds, "and you were a good snog."

I find myself laughing. It's a short laugh, short and nearly stopped before it started, but laughing.

"Indeed," I agree.

Curiousity indeed.

* * *

I'm back at my flat two hours later, having "snogged one another senseless," as Ginny so aptly put it in her owl back to me, for the following hour. There wasn't much conversation. There wasn't much to discuss. 

He was great at kissing, and he apparently thought it was worth the crossing of bloodlines to kiss me, so we kissed. That was all.

There were no real feelings aside from the odd sense of affection that comes from physical intimacy. There was no impending sense of commitment.

Thinking of it now, safe within my flat, it's nice to think that there won't need to be a sense of commitment. It's nice to know that he's there for the good snogging, and I'm there for the good snogging, and there's no need to consider anything else. He lives in his world, with all his serpents and emerald greens, and I live in mine, with all my Gryffindor attire to match. I'm in the light, and he is likely just as immersed as ever in the dark.

It's just snogging. Really, really good snogging. It's the best snogging I've ever had.

And honestly, this is just what I needed. Right now, with where I am in my life, I don't need a serious relationship. I don't need some random bloke who's going to ask for my hand in marriage within the year. I don't need any of that.

Just the snogging. Just the melting.

Just the curiousity.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so this story is apparently intent on writing itself. It may be a few days before I have time to write, though, because I have a lot of work coming up. Nonetheless, enjoy it as it is. And review. Thanks!**


	4. Creative Excuse

**Disclaimer: It's J.K. Rowling's world. They just play in mine.**

The following day I'm working on-site where the wizard levitated his house. I look up at the house and marvel at his ability. Shaking my head soundlessly as I gaze onto what might better be classified a mansion than any ordinary house, I smile as the old wizard opens the door and comes out to greet me.

"Evening, Miss," he says politely, extending his hand to me. I meet his halfway, giving him a sturdy shake. "You're not here with the papers, are you?" he asks with a tone of suspicion.

"Oh, no," I respond quickly. I show him the badge I'm using from the Ministry and say, "I'm here with the Ministry of Magic. I'm going to interview your neighbors and see if we can't get this little problem sorted."

He looks relieved. Nodding quickly, he says, "Let me know if I can be of service."

"I will," I say, seating myself on the front step of his porch as he goes back inside.

A dark grey owl with even darker eyes swoops toward me, dropping a parchment next to me and perching on a tree to watch me open it.

I turn it over to see the scrawl on the front, and it reads, "Hermyoninee."

My brow furrows as I open it. In passing, I wonder how the owl ever found me.

_Hermyoninee,_

_I want to say to you that I will be back in the UK for tonight and tomorrow morning only. It would please me very much if you would join me for a meal tonight. _

_Can I meet you at Diagon Alley at 6:00 tonight?_

_Viktor Krum_

I'm not sure what look is on my face as I reread the lettering. _Viktor Krum_. It's been a long while. I haven't seen him since the Triwizard Tournament, and it seems near on ages ago since then.

Shrugging my shoulders and admittedly wondering what it could hurt, I take out a fresh piece of parchment from my stack, dip my quill, and reply:

_Viktor,_

_Sure, I can meet you in Diagon Alley tonight. I'll meet you just outside the Leaky Cauldron at 6:00. _

_See you there,_

_Hermione_

Noting that I have indeed spelled my own name correctly after having read his interpretation of it two times in a row, I call to the owl and place the parchment in his beak. He flies off quickly, and I return to my notes.

* * *

My day in the field is long and grueling, and the muggles in Northern Ireland have frustrated me. I'm glad to be back in my flat with Crookshanks. As much as he is still a fat old cat, he's closer to me than anyone else. 

Harry has gone to train to become an auror, and I rarely see him anymore. As for Ronald, he's doing what he loves: he's playing Quidditch for the Chudley Cannons and loving every moment of it. I rarely see him, either. Until the snogging incidents with Malfoy, Crookshanks has been my only male companion for quite a while.

Well, not counting the letter this morning from Viktor. I don't know quite what to make of that, but I suppose I'll go with it.

I look at the time and realize I still have a good bit left. As a result, I curl up with my latest find from the library in Hogsmeade until it's time to get ready.

* * *

Partially through my date with Viktor, I'm terribly bored. Back at Hogwarts, he seemed so interesting and handsome. Now, though, I long for a good companion with something near an intelligence level. I stifle a yawn as he talks about his most recent Quidditch exploits. 

Once our meal is finished, he walks outside with me and reaches for my hand. Since I had no objections at the time I knew him to him doing so, I allow it. There is more talking involved, with a lot of walking, and I'm considering ways to say I have to leave.

Before I completely register what is going on, though, I find myself pressed up against the hard brick of an alley wall with Viktor's face right next to mine. I don't have time to protest before he kisses me.

I'll admit, I have always wondered a bit about how kissing Viktor would be. I imagined it to be something great; something wonderful. I imagined something unforgettable.

It's unforgettable, all right.

His tongue is all over my mouth. It's wet, it's sloppy, and it's not so much massaging mine as it is thrashing against it. His hands are in all the wrong places on me, and there is what is best defined as slobber all around my lips.

I'm absolutely disgusted, and my mind is now reeling through all the excuses I could offer for why I have to go.

Finally, he lets me breathe. I push him away as politely as I can muster, saying, as though I just thought of it, "Oh, Viktor, I just realized I have somewhere to be." It's a cliched statement, but it's the first thought I find.

He looks at me with questions in his eyes, but I continue before he can speak.

"I'm terribly sorry," I say, "but I told a friend of mine I'd go visit tonight."

He nods slowly but sadly.

"It's been great," I add as an afterthought of sorts.

I separate farther before he can grab another chance to kiss me, and I wave.

"Goodbye, Viktor," I say softly.

"Goodbye," he mutters, still appearing completely confused as I disapparate.

I don't know it now, but this will be the last time I see him. We'll lose touch over the following year, and he'll go on to win his lovely trophy wife within even the month, soon after complete with his very own little Viktor, destined to own his own toy broom by the ripe old age of two.

* * *

I'm not entirely sure this is where I meant to go when I disapparated from Viktor. 

I stand, confused, staring at Malfoy's door to his flat for what must be a full two minutes. I wonder what brought me here. I wonder how on Earth I managed to successfully apparate without knowingly concentrating on my destination. I wonder if I really do want to knock on that door.

As my more rational part begins to win over my irrational and I'm just about to disapparate, the door opens.

Malfoy is standing in front of me in sleeping robes, looking tired. "Well," he mumbles after a moment, "are you coming in or aren't you?"

I walk forward a bit sheepishly, seating myself on the couch as he offers it and watching him take a seat next to me.

He rubs his eyes and asks, "So what brings you around at this lovely hour?"

I look at my watch. It's nearly midnight. "Oh," I mutter. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was so late."

He near-smiles and says, "It's all right, I suppose. I was only about to turn in, not actually there yet."

"Well at least that's good, then," I say.

"Yeah," he says. "I might just have had to _Avada _you if I'd already done so."

I smile a bit, realizing in that moment that he has likely actually used that curse before. Somehow the joke isn't quite as amusing when it's real.

"So you never answered," he adds, taking me from my thoughts. "What brings you here?"

"I'm honestly not sure," I say slowly.

He gives me a curious look, raising his eyebrows just a bit.

"I was on what I guess you could call a date with Viktor Krum," I begin.

"Krum? The Quidditch Krum?"

I laugh. "Yes, that one. He was in town for the night and wanted to see me."

"I see," he says slowly. "Have you two been involved before?"

I realize he likely doesn't know about Hogwarts.

"Well, we attended the Yule Ball together that year," I say.

"Oh, that's right," he says. "We all thought he was off his..." At the look from me, he trails off. "Though I suppose that's been a long while since then." He doesn't meet my eyes.

I nod shortly and continue. "But we hadn't seen one another since then, and I guess it was just curiousity."

I'm not entirely sure when, after that near-outburst from him, I began leaning on his shoulder, or when his hand found its way to my knee.

"Yes," he says, squeezing my knee gently. "Curiousity can be an evil thing."

"But amazingly less effective the second time around," I mutter.

He laughs, seemingly before he can catch himself. "Not so great, eh?" he says.

"Nothing compared to you."

The words are out before I realize I've said them. I don't even know for sure I realized I felt that way, let alone saying it. I curse myself silently as my words hang there between us.

I'm just about to come up with my second creative excuse to leave for the night when I feel his hand on my chin. He's lifting my lips to his, and I'm accepting readily.

Our lips join again in one seamless motion, and I'm at peace again.

There will be no more words tonight. He'll continue kissing me, and I'll continue kissing him. At some point within the night, we'll move to his bedroom and continue kissing. Nothing more will happen, but we'll come to a point in the wee hours of morning where we'll become so accustomed to one another's lips to nearly not know the difference between kissing and not kissing.

I'll fall asleep in his arms before I realize I'm tired, and I'll sleep curled up with him all night.

* * *

**A/N: Hey everyone who's reading this. Please do me a favor and review! I can't know if I'm doing well with this story if no one tells me... Thanks!**


	5. Cryptic

**Note: If you get a chance and you haven't yet, skim through the past few chapters. I did a few chapter replacements with edits in them. Ron does indeed play for the _Chudley _Cannons, not the _Dudley _ones, lol. And also, the conversation between Draco and Hermione about Krum goes just a bit differently (previous chapter). Thanks.**

**Disclaimer: As always, it's not mine. I'm just borrowing.**

I wake to a faint light coming through a dark curtain. There is warmth around me, and this is possibly the most comfortable I've ever been upon waking. I turn slightly, finding Malfoy looking at me with sleepy eyes. I offer him a small smile and kiss him before I can register hesitation.

In the light of day, I realize he has a beautiful bedroom. It's set all in hues of blacks and greys, not like the ode to Slytherin of his living room. Even his dresser is black with silver knobs on the drawers. The bed we're in has incredibly soft black sheets with a black comforter over us that has swirls of silver within it. These swirls, though, don't have serpent heads on the ends of them.

I'm much more comfortable here.

"Long day today?" he asks.

I sigh. "Yes," I say, "I suppose so. I'm working on a project."

He sits himself up on one elbow so he's slightly leaning over me on my back. His hair brushes lightly against my forehead. "What kind of project?" he asks.

"Oh, some wizard who levitated his house in the middle of a community of muggles," I answer.

He smirks. "Nice," he says. His fingers start to play with the middle of my stomach, running in little circles along it. My stomach flips, and I barely register his next sentence. "So where do you work, anyway?"

I squirm just a bit under his fingers, earning a slightly darker tone in his eyes that I now recognize as physical interest. "The Ministry," I respond, slightly aware of the response my eyes are giving his. "I'm working as an intern for Ronald's father."

I can tell it takes effort for him not to say anything daft. "I see," he replies instead. He brings his head down a little farther, letting our noses barely touch.

"So where do you work?" I ask, wanting to forget about the tension that just occurred.

"For my father," he says.

"And what does he do?" I ask.

A look I can't quite read passes his face, and he whispers, "I'll tell you later," as his lips meet mine.

Sensations are heightened in the coming of day, likely out of a lack of use while we slept. His lips on mine are even more amazing, and my skin sizzles in response to his touch. His body is soon over me completely, and he's kissing me more fully, and his hands are running up and down my sides.

It takes everything I have not to ask to go further.

It's not until I'm back in my flat getting ready for work that I realize just how cryptic he was. I find myself pushing that thought ever so slightly back, though, and smiling as I remember the look in his eyes when we kissed.

* * *

"So how are things with Malfoy?"

It takes a great deal of effort not to smile this time.

"They're well, I suppose," I say.

"Well?" Ginny asks, seeming surprised.

"I suppose," I respond, sighing.

"Well, it's been a little while since we saw each other last," she says. She props herself up on her elbows on my couch, looking up at me. "Tell me what's happened."

"Well, I went over there," I start.

She rolls her eyes. "After that," she says.

I laugh. "We kissed," I say simply.

She waits for what she likely thinks is an acceptable amount of time before adding, "And?" At the look I give her, she says, "You already told me that part, in your owl."

I feel the blush coming up through my cheeks. I get a two-second involuntary flash of Malfoy's lips on mine with his body pressed against me, and I squirm in my seat. "Right," I reply. "Well," I add hesitantly, "it was good."

She lets out a sigh that is much larger than necessary.

I laugh again. "Okay, fine," I say quietly. She leans forward to listen, her eyes eager. "We had a cup of tea, which I might have told you."

She raises her eyebrows. "Malfoy fixed tea?"

I nod, an amused smile on my face. "Must be a rich boy thing. Habit and such."

She laughs.

"So we had the tea, and then talked a bit about why we were there." She gives me a questioning look, and I add, "Curiousity, you know." Her look switches to understanding. "So we, as you know, kissed for a good bit. Then I went home, and we didn't really say much about seeing one another."

"Never with the commitment, eh?" she teases.

"I'm not so much into that right now, no," I say.

"Yeah, me neither," she says. "That's why Blaise and I are just snogging buddies," she adds.

"Really now?" I ask. "Officially and everything?"

The sound she makes might best be described as a giggle. "Yes," she replies, trying to get her face not to smile. "We had the long talk and everything."

I laugh and shake my head at her. "The talk? About just snogging?"

She sticks her tongue out just a bit in that "I've been bad" sort of way. "Yep," she replies.

I shake my head again.

"So anyway, continue," she says, sitting up to lean on the arm of the couch.

"Well, I was on-site with the Ministry, and I got an owl from Viktor, asking me to dinner yesterday."

"Viktor Krum?" She looks as surprised as I was.

"Yes, Viktor Krum," I say. "So I went to see him, more out of curiousity than anything." I pause for just a second, gathering my words. "And it was horrid," I add.

She laughs. "How so?"

"Oh, just absolutely horrid," I reply. "He was so boring and so annoying and all I really wanted to do was go away." She nods. "But I stayed and then we went on a walk and somehow or another, he ends up kissing me and that's even more horrid than the rest of it." I shudder.

"So not everything you imagined it to be, then?" she asks, and I can tell she's trying to hide the laughter in her voice.

"No," I reply strongly. "Most certainly not anything at all like I imagined it to be." I suppress another shudder.

"Never is," she says wryly.

"So then the really awkward thing is when I go to leave," I say. "I don't know for sure what I was thinking as I apparated, apart from 'away from Viktor.'" She laughs. "But I ended up just outside Malfoy's flat."

I can tell she's trying not to say anything.

"So I stand there for a great deal of time, debating over whether I want to knock on the door. Then Malfoy comes to the door and opens it just as I'm about to leave."

"What did he say?"

"Something about how late it was, then there was small talk, and I said something entirely accidentally romantic, and all the sudden we were snogging like mad and then it was morning." I don't realize I forgot to breathe until I finish the sentence.

"Nice," she says through her laughter. "So it's going well?"

"I suppose you could describe it that way."

* * *

I'm at Malfoy's flat again. This time, though, he sent an owl and knew I was coming. I was sitting on my couch, re-reading _Hogwarts, A History_ since it's been forever since I last did so, when his owl came. I got ready to come over here, and here I am.

This is most certainly an awkward moment.

I'm sitting just next to him on the serpent couch and neither of us is talking. I'm staring at his walls, which aren't so much interesting as just an object in front of my eyes that isn't him.

I want to ask him what he's thinking. I figure he's probably thinking about the morning just as much as I am. What did that mean, anyway? I stayed here, with Malfoy, less than a week after becoming reaquainted with him. And it was... _good_. 

"What are you thinking?"

I wish I could find the person who created words that could stay suspended in the air like that sentence does. He's not responding at first, and he doesn't seem to know what to make of them.

"I'm not sure," he answers slowly.

I nod. Another awkward moment. I feel a sudden urge to kiss him, even though I don't completely know why. "So why did you ask me here?" I try again.

"I'm not sure," he repeats.

"Should I go, then?" 

As I stand to leave, I feel his hand on my forearm. The electricity pulses through me like some sort of magic they never taught in school, and we're kissing again.

I'm not sure why we're always so awkward before the kisses, then so entirely not awkward during and after them. However, at this precise moment, I don't wish to think about that.

* * *

**A/N: There's a little button in the corner that takes you to a review page, where you can tell me what you think. Do that please? Thanks.**


	6. Natural

**Disclaimer: Anything that is obviously J.K. Rowling's is hers. The rest of it is mine.**

"So we should have a double date."

The comment comes from nowhere. Ginny and I have been sitting around her flat talking about something menial to do with Hogwarts life, and there's a pause. Then the comment.

I don't know what to make of it.

"I suppose," I say slowly, "that could be interesting."

I choose to ignore the fact that Malfoy and I could hardly be classified as having had a date at all at this point.

"Seriously," she adds. "That way you could see how Blaise and I react to one another and see what you think, and I could do the same for you and Malfoy."

I don't say aloud that I don't know if I want to know what she thinks of me and Malfoy.

"I suppose," I say instead.

"I'm owling Blaise," she says, and she's up off the couch and calling for her owl before I can protest. "Then you can use Picwick after I get a reply." She does seem to be waiting for me to answer, so I don't.

As soon as Picwick's gone, scroll in beak, Ginny turns to me. "So how was last night?"

I take a deep breath. "I don't know," I say.

She gives me a curious look.

"It was so awkward," I add. I pause, trying to think of what words I want to say. "It's so odd with us anyway."

When I don't seem like I'm going to continue, she says, "How so?"

"We're just so awkward, all the time. But then-" his lips on mine flash through my memory before I can think- "we kiss and it's all natural all over again. Is that _normal_?"

She laughs, and I frown a little deeper. "Hermione, you're involved with _Malfoy_. Since when did you expect _normal_?"

I shrug, slightly embarrassed now. "Point taken."

As I finish my words, Picwick comes back through the window. "Wow," Ginny says. "Blaise must be close by."

She stops Picwick to read the parchment, stroking her feathers absentmindedly as she does so. "Okay," she says, looking at me. "Blaise is actually with Malfoy right now, which makes it that much easier."

This thought doesn't relieve me.

She continues. "He wants to meet us in one hour at that little coffee shop just near Hog's Head. You know, they have the little sandwiches and such?"

I nod in acknowledgment. Unfortunately, Ginny takes my nod as agreement instead.

"Good," she says quickly. She writes out a quick reply and sends it back with Picwick.

"Now," she says, watching her fly and then turning her attention to me. "We have to get you ready."

* * *

Somehow I find myself at the coffee shop next to Ginny, with Blaise and Malfoy directly across from us. My mind wanders to the last time we had these seating arrangements. I flush as I remember the night that followed.

"What's got your knicker in a twist?" Malfoy whispers to me. Blaise and Ginny are, as last time, completely absorbed in one another's company. I briefly wonder why they don't just make it official already.

Blushing, I reply, "Nothing."

He looks at me knowingly, reaching out for my hand across the table. Somehow I knew I wanted that about a second before it happens. It's strange like that with him. It's always so natural... in a weird way.

I note the look Ginny gives our hands out of the corner of her eye, and I shrug almost imperceptibly. Blaise reaches for her hand as well, turning to us.

"So how are things?" he asks conversationally.

I pause and wait for Malfoy to answer.

He's pausing to wait for me.

"They're--" we start together.

"well," he finishes, as I drop off, blushing again.

He squeezes my hand out of... comfort? I squeeze back, not knowing what else to do. As always, that delicious shiver runs down my spine. Sometimes I hate how well we connect. Other times, I can't help but enjoy it.

"So Hermione," Blaise asks, "how are things with the Ministry?"

"They're well," I respond. "Just finished working on a case with some bloke who accidentally levitated his house in a community of muggles.

Laughing, Blaise asks, "How does one go about _accidentally _levitating one's house?"

I shrug. "He missed the fairy he was going for and got his porch instead."

Everyone laughs. "Well, did he at least get the fairy with the house?"

"Yes," I respond. "So I suppose it was a mild success."

Blaise smiles, and I catch Draco smiling as well. "So what exactly did you do?"

I sigh, remembering all my efforts. "I went around to the entire town, including the editors of the muggle tabloid that had already published the story, figuring out what they knew and altering their minds."

"Nice," he responds.

I briefly realize just how much Blaise has changed since Hogwarts. I see a little of what Ginny sees in him.

"So what is it that you do?" I ask him politely. "Ginny hasn't told me yet."

"Oh, I actually work with her at St. Mungo's," he says.

"Really?" I give Ginny a look that clearly lets her know I should've already known this.

"Yes, I help with the healing potions."

"That's nice of you," I reply.

"So what do you do, Malfoy?" Ginny asks.

"I work for my father," he says simply. "What do you do?"

Again with the cryptic answer.

"Well, as Blaise said, I work at St. Mungo's. I'm a healer."

Draco nods, and the food arrives.

There isn't much more small talk as we all eat.

* * *

After lunch, Ginny has gone off with Blaise and Draco and I are back at his flat.

"It's nice to hear your work went well," he's saying.

"Yes it is," I reply. "Hopefully the next project is just as simple."

"What types of projects have you had in the past?" he asks.

I'm leaning into him, and he's wrapping his arm around my shoulder as I answer.

"Well, there was the woman who meant to apparate into a bit of woods outside muggle London only to find that the bit of woods she remembered had recently been replaced by an upscale restaurant."

His eyebrows raise.

"She apparated just into the lap of a very important muggle politician... a superstitious one, at that."

He cringes, and I can feel the movement throughout his body.

"That took some well-placed memory charms as well."

There's a pause, and he says, "I thought you were only into muggle inventions?"

"Well, I am," I say. "But sometimes I'm called into other departments in emergency situations when it's important to understand the muggle community."

"I see," he replies.

"So what exactly is it you do for your father?"

My question hangs in the air for longer than normal, and he tenses.

I almost regret asking it, but I realize taking it back will only make this more awkward.

He takes a deep breath. "I don't really want to go into detail," he says.

I nod quickly, fully content to let it go at that.

He continues. "In the past, to be honest, I did whatever my father saw fit within the work of the Dark Lord."

His voice is flat and unemotional, and I try my hardest to keep my body from tensing. I nod instead.

"The Dark Lord was not someone you wanted to make angry."

I nod again.

"Now, though, my father has his own affairs, and I help him attend to them."

His sentence ends on a rather final note, and before I can ask him for more details, his lips are covering mine and I'm lost all over again.

* * *

**A/N: I know this one was a little smaller than normal, but hopefully not by too much. As for the conversation focus, they have to do something other than make out sometimes, right? Anyway, let me know what you think. Thanks!**


	7. Mornings

**Disclaimer: They're not mine. **

I'm waking up again in Draco's flat. His arm is wrapped comfortably just behind my head and upper back, and I'm turned into him, my arm just draped over his upper chest. I sigh with what I realize soon after is content, burrowing my head a bit further into the curve of his shoulder.

He smiles without opening his eyes.

"Morning," he says quietly.

"Morning," I reply. This sweet comfort is becoming typical of our mornings spent together.

"So what's on the agenda today?" he asks, turning slightly to look down at me.

I lean up for that first kiss of the morning before responding.

"I'm actually not sure," I say. "As I said last night, I'm hoping my most recent project is as simple as the ones I've had so far."

"Think they'll ever get you back on muggle inventions instead of accidents?" He says it in a joking tone.

"No clue," I respond, stretching out and snuggling back down to him. His fingers start running in light little circles along my shoulder, and I'm just a bit dizzy. "I do what they tell me."

"I know the feeling," he says, and I can't help but notice his voice is a little less joking.

Soon enough, we're up and about.

"So do you suspect you'll start bringing some sleeping robes along with you?" he asks, hiding a smile as I adjust my robes.

I take out my wand and mutter a spell to take out the wrinkles. "See," I say, my tone playful, "if I were to do something like that, we might start assuming I'm staying here often."

"True," he says, pulling me to him and kissing me softly. "We can't have that."

I melt all over again in his arms, just catching myself wishing our nights were as comfortable as the mornings after.

* * *

I arrive at the office just barely on time, a rarety for me. I tend to be what Ron used to call "sickeningly early," but I suppose a few minutes later than my norm can't be all bad.

"Hermione," calls Mr. Weasley as I'm passing his office.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" I respond, turning on the spot and poking my head just a bit inside.

"Arthur, Hermione. Arthur," he reminds me, as he always does. It's just so awkward for me to say that.

"Of course," I say. "Arthur."

He motions for me to step in, and I do. He hands me a bit of parchment, which turns out to be a memo from the Accidental Magic Reversal Department.

As it happens, they'd like me to come work for them.

"See," he explains, "they say you've done such a great job on the past couple of assignments that they'd like to take you on as a full-time employee."

My eyes widen. "A real job at the Ministry?" I say.

He chuckles. "Yes," he says. "Unfortunately, my department isn't hiring, or I would've offered it to you months ago."

"And how do you feel about this?" I ask him cautiously, knowing some of his relations with the Ministry.

"I think it's fine work for you," he says sincerely. "It's just your cup of tea, and they'd love to have you."

I smile.

"Of course, we'll miss you around here," he concedes. "But I suppose we'll manage."

"As I'm sure you will," I reply. "So when would I start working over there?"

"As soon as you'd like," He responds. "I can have someone help you move your things immediately if you want."

I think about it for a moment. "How about tomorrow?" I ask.

He smiles. "Tomorrow sounds just fine with me."

* * *

"So how was your last day in Dad's department?"

I always wonder how Ginny knows things almost before I do.

"It was good," I reply. "Just more of the norm, but somehow more meaningful, since it was all the last time."

"I know what you mean," she says thoughtfully. "Life's sort of like that, isn't it?"

I nod, turning my attention to Crookshanks, who has been weaving in and out of my legs for the last few minutes.

"So how are things with Malfoy?" she asks, her tone much more knowing than last time we had this conversation.

"Pretty good," I say honestly.

"So does he hold your hand in public often?" Her eyes twinkle in that way only Ginny's can when she asks.

I feel the blush creeping into my cheeks. "We're not so much for public at all, really," I reply quietly.

"You know," she says in a fake thoughtful tone, "you two looked pretty much like a couple in there."

The blush is now uncomfortably warm and I direct my attentions more completely to the cat. He doesn't mind, after all. "I don't know what you're talking about," I mutter to Ginny.

"Of course you don't," she says.

A moment of silence passes, though I get the feeling it's a planned moment.

"So where did you sleep last night?"

That's another of those phrasings that stays suspended in the air for far too long after it's been stated. It's there, I've heard it, and it should just disappear immediately.

"I thought so," she says slyly without waiting for my reply.

I shrug. "Like I said," I reply, "things are pretty good."

She nods.

"It's weird, though," I add softly. I notice she comes a little closer to hear what I say next. "We're always so much more at ease with one another in the mornings. Does that make sense?"

She thinks for a moment. "Yes," she says. "Blaise and I were like that for quite a while in the very beginning."

"And now?"

She laughs in that mischievous way. "Now we just snog all the time, not only in the mornings."

I laugh along with her.

"So has there been any talk yet?" she says after a moment.

"Certainly not," I say quickly.

"It'll be soon enough, you know," she says wisely.

"Please don't tell me that..." I don't care that my voice sounds just a bit whiny.

"The more serious it gets, the closer that talk comes."

"Well that's good," I say firmly. "Because serious is most certainly something we are not."

* * *

It's not until I find myself yet again at Draco's flat, curled as comfortably as ever in his arms, that I begin to wonder anything different.

**A/N: I'm so sorry for the late update on this. It's not like I don't ever have time, it's just the motivation factor and trying to get my sleep cycle on cue... Anyway, let me know what you thought of it. If anyone's still interested, that is. Thanks!**


	8. Kisses

**Disclaimer: It's J.K. Rowling's world. I'm not her. Hence, it's not mine. It all works like that.**

I don't know what time it is, but I know it's late. It's late, and I'm here with Draco, and I'm not laying in my own bed.

His lips are on mine, and we're kissing. We're kissing over and over again and at some point within this time period, we've eventually kissed so much that through the lip contact and the bleariness I have due to how late it is, I have no idea whether we're kissing or not.

"We've kissed so much I can't even tell when we're kissing or not kissing."

I don't mean to tell him.

He laughs. "I know."

Then he kisses me again.

His lips mold into mine, and we're sincerely so much one person at this point that it seems we're literally joined at the lips and I don't really see any way out of it. It's all types of kissing, and he's the best at all of them. It's over and over again, and I'm dizzy, but there's really no stopping us.

I like this. I like laying here with him. He's warm, and he's such a great kisser. I don't seem to be able to stop. Sometimes I think I could lay here and kiss him forever.

* * *

Sooner or later, the next morning comes. I have no idea when I fell asleep.

He's warm and soft and incredibly cuddly, but that alarm is driving me crazy.

"Draco," I say softly at first.

He mutters a little, then rolls over in bed.

"Draco," I say a little louder.

He turns back to me, holding me tightly but still very much asleep.

"Draco Malfoy!" I say much louder this time, shaking him awake.

He startles, looking around. Seeing me, he smiles and reaches over, slamming the alarm with probably more force than it was designed to handle.

"Thank you," I mutter.

He nods sleepily.

We lay for another moment together, cuddled in our little bundle of just us. I realize I'm really beginning to wonder if that talk will actually end up happening.

"Last night was good," he mutters almost inaudibly.

"It was," I whisper. I realize my tone is considerably more gentle with him than I used to be.

He holds me a little tighter, burying his head into my shoulder.

"Do you ever wonder if maybe we're building this whole situation on kissing?"

I have no idea I'm going to ask the question before it's already out of my mouth, and he's laughing as soon as I say it.

"Wasn't that the plan?" he asks.

I laugh along with him. "I suppose so, in a way."

A moment of not altogether comfortable silence passes.

"Sometimes I wonder if you might not be falling for me, Granger," he says, clearly using my last name playfully.

"Sometimes I wonder the same about you, Malfoy," I retort.

He holds me a little closer, but neither of us says another word.

* * *

I'm changing back into my regular pants, having switched into pajama bottoms the night before.

"You know, someone's going to start thinking you're a regular here," he mutters as I emerge from the restroom, coming up from behind and holding me.

"I have no clue what would ever give them that idea," I respond playfully, turning and kissing him again.

He groans a little. "I don't think I'll ever have enough of those," he says. I get the feeling he didn't quite mean to say it that way.

I pull away to gather my belongings and decide to change the subject.

"Did I tell you I got hired in the Accidental Magic Reversal Department?"

"No, I don't think you did," he says, sitting on his living room chair as I continue to walk around.

"Yeah, I start today," I say.

"It's about time, right?" he asks.

"Yeah, something like that." I laugh. "I've been doing a good deal of work there recently."

"Sounds like it."

"So how has work been for you?" I ask, a little cautiously.

"You know," he says with that vague air I'm beginning to become familiar with, "it's work."

I sigh almost inaudibly, then check my watch. My heart flutters as I realize I've almost made myself late. "Well, speaking of work, I need to hurry."

"Okay," he says, approaching me. He gives me another light kiss on the lips, then separates with a smile as I disapparate.

* * *

Today I'm meeting with a witch who, by some trick of her wand, managed to turn her son's car into an enormous lapdog.

I laughed as I read the papers on her situation, showing them to the witch next to me in the office, who also laughed. I don't know the woman very well, but her name is Leia, and she seems nice enough.

Regardless, once I actually arrive at this witch's house, I can scarcely contain the amusement. Though I can admittedly see why it's not so funny to her.

The car, one of those old models that looks as though it might as well belong in a junk pit instead of a garage, is panting quite profusely, wagging its back fender, and trying to convince the middle-aged woman to scratch a spot just behind its passenger-side mirror.

Convincing myself to maintain a professional demeanor, I ask her exactly how this happened. The car, at the sound of my voice, rushes over to me and flips over, trying to get me to rub its... well, its belly, I suppose.

"Well," the woman starts, brushing a stray hair out of her face, "my son's a Squib." I nod. "So I had to get him something to get around in, since he can't apparate like any normal wizard."

"Perfectly understandable," I concede.

"And the man who sold the car to me, this greasy old bloke with a terrible hairpiece-" her face squishes into a grimace- "must have taken one look at me and played me for a fool."

"They have a tendency to do that," I say.

"So he sold me this car that hardly worked well enough to get us out of the drive. Then when we got home, it just died altogether." She sighs a big sigh as the car comes back to her, and she even distractedly starts petting it behind the mirror. "I tried to think of any spell I knew to fix it, and it just wouldn't work out. So finally, I got really frustrated, pointed my wand at it, and just yelled, 'Be good!'"

With that, she looks at the car, waves her hands toward it in an exasperated fashion, and mutters, "And this happens."

I pause for a really long moment, sizing up the car. This is certainly the most complicated situation I've found myself in to date.

Finally, I turn to the woman. "Well, I suppose there's just one question I have."

"What's that?"

"Do you want a car or a dog?"

* * *

**A/N: Lol well, that's it for now. I don't know about you all, but I think sometimes Hermione's job is my favorite part of this story.**

**Anyway, let me know what you think. Thanks!**


	9. This Whole Thing

**Disclaimer: Not my people. Not my world. Just my plot. Enjoy!**

"So after all that, she wanted the _dog_?"

I laugh at the perplexed look on Ginny's face as she asks the question, nodding. "I suppose she'd always wanted one. And besides, that car was junk anyway."

"True enough," Ginny replies.

"Took some pretty interesting combinations of magic, though," I add, thinking back on it. "I thought I'd never figure it out."

"Eh," she says, "you're Hermione, you can do anything."

"I wish," I respond, laughing.

"That's what Ron always said, anyway," she adds.

I blush slightly, shrugging. "Yeah," I say. "I always did think I'd end up with him."

"Could've happened, you know."

My heart flutters for a split second as I remember the way things were. When Ron and I were together, we seemed unstoppable. But then, suddenly, it just stopped. I close my eyes for a second and change the subject within my own mind.

"But that's neither here nor there," Ginny says quickly at my reaction. "How are things with Mr. Malfoy?"

I laugh. "They're... things."

"Always so descriptive." She rolls her eyes.

"I don't know," I add. "We kiss... a lot. But that's it."

"Do you like him?"

"No."

I say it before I think.

She gives me her characteristic look.

"I really don't," I say. "I'd rather not have to deal with a lot of it, to be honest."

She appears confused. "Hermione, you've been over there every night for quite a while now."

"I know."

"You sleep in the same bed."

"I know."

"And yet you don't like the bloke?"

"Not really." I cringe at the look she gives me.

"And might this be giving him the wrong impression?" I altogether avoid her eyes, knowing full well what they'll say.

"I know, I know. I just don't want to have to have that talk." I shrug, feeling just a bit more guilty than before.

"And you really don't like him at all?" I can tell she's looking straight through me, trying to see what I'm thinking.

I try to think more about it. "It's weird," I say. I feel like I always say that. "It's like he's great while I'm there, and we're great together."

She nods.

"But then I leave, and I just can't even imagine I'd ever have anything to do with him."

And it's true.

He's such a bad idea.

* * *

I'm back at my flat on my own. I realize suddenly that it's not all that often that I actually get alone time. In fact, it's not often I'm in my flat anymore at all.

Crookshanks is letting me know this. He meows loudly, rubbing himself against my leg as I try to read my book.

"Crookshanks," I groan. "I don't get to read very often." Soon enough, though, he's won, and I'm stroking his back as he purrs appreciatively. He jumps into my lap and rubs the side of his face up against mine.

Suddenly his body tenses just a bit, and he jumps off my lap to greet Draco's owl at the window.

I stand up to open the window, seating myself again as the owl enters. "Crookshanks, be good," I mutter as I see the way he's eyeing the owl. I gently pull the parchment from its leg, stroking its feathers lightly.

_Up for a walk?_

_Draco_

I take a deep breath, resign myself to not getting that reading as promised, and grab a quill.

_Sure. Be here in 15 minutes?_

_Hermione_

Even as I watch the owl fly, I know he's such a bad idea.

* * *

"So she wanted the dog, then?"

I laugh. "Yep. Topic of the day, it seems."

I realize somewhat suddenly that our hands are intertwined, and we're swinging them comfortably as we walk. When did that happen?

"So how was your day?" I ask. It somehow seems so comfortable to be walking here with him, talking about our days.

"It was the usual," he says, vague as always.

A jolt of annoyance runs through me. "Can't you ever answer that directly?" I ask, not bothering to hide my tone.

He takes a deep breath. "I suppose I could," he says. With a small chuckle, he adds, "but you might not like the response."

"Try me," I say, hands on my hips and looking at him.

He sighs, reaching out for my hand again and walking.

"As you know, I work for my father." I can't help but notice the Pureblood-bred way he says it.

"Of course," I say.

"And he's, well, involved in a few... alternative ways... of alleviating current wizarding political issues."

"I see." I know how flat my voice is.

"Not as alternative as before, mind you," he adds somewhat quickly. "Just... alternative."

Sighing and shaking my head quickly, I blurt, "Okay, do I really want to know?"

He laughs. "I already told you no."

I swallow. "Okay, nevermind."

"Okay."

We continue walking. Somehow, we fall back into comfort.

"So, I've been thinking," he says after quite a while, in a completely different tone from the conversation we just had.

He turns to me, pulling my other hand to link with his.

My heart drops to my stomach. "About?"

"This whole thing."

"I see," I respond, well aware I'm avoiding his eyes. "And what exactly about it?"

"Just... the idea of things."

"Uh huh." I know how incoherent I am at the moment.

"And I got to thinking that maybe, in some way, we might've been right about this whole thing."

"And how's that?" I realize just a little too late that I haven't taken a breath in quite a while. I decide to do that.

"I think maybe you might just be falling for me." He says it in a coy sort of way, almost flirting, but with a little too strong of a touch of seriousness for my taste.

"Really now?" I say.

"I think maybe so," he says, running his hands along my arms. I shiver involuntarily.

"And I think maybe, just maybe, you might've been right about me too."

I'm sure he hears the gulp in my throat. "How so?"

"I might just be falling for you, too."

Then he's kissing me.

He's kissing me, and I'm kissing him, and he's such a good kisser, and the whole world disappears and suddenly it doesn't matter that he's such a bad idea.

Suddenly he might just not be such a bad idea after all.

I'm melting him and I'm slowly, slowly forgetting myself in his arms.

And even though I know it'll never work. Even though I know it'll never happen. Even though I know without a doubt in my mind that there's no possible way we'll ever actually be together, and I know absolutely for certain that sometime soon I'll have to correct all those horribly wrong assumptions, right now, he's kissing me.

He's kissing me, and this is all that matters.

**A/N: Awkward, yes. But such is life sometimes. Review?**


	10. Wizarding Political Policies

**Disclaimer: Yep, not mine. Like always. Enjoy anyway.**

* * *

I'm laying here again, his arm draped around me. I've no idea what time it is. I wonder when the last time was I slept in my own bed. I realize I can't quite remember.

Was it sometime last week? Two weeks ago? Last month?

How long have I been involved with him?

I should go.

He shifts sleepily, holding me tighter. I feel a rush of sudden affection for him from somewhere. I smile a little half smile and hold him tighter as well.

I see him smile almost sweetly in his sleep, and the world fades out.

* * *

I'm pretty sure, as I wake up this morning, that I hadn't planned on staying last night. I even remember thinking, as I fell asleep, that I was going to be better tonight... well, last night. I was going to get up out of the bed. I was going to my own flat.

He brings out this part of me I wasn't completely sure I had. He doesn't do it on purpose, mind you. He just does.

"So what kinds of alternative ways do you and your father deal with current political issues?"

I think I've asked so quietly that he won't possibly hear me, but he stirs and pulls me a little closer. "First you have to tell me if you really want to know," he mumbles sleepily.

I sigh.

Even as the sense of dread falls into my stomach, that ever-present peace I seem to feel with him joins right along with it.

"I'll have to know sooner or later, right?"

He shrugs, pulling himself a bit upright. "As you wish," he says, pulling me up with him and wrapping his arms around me.

I sigh into him, forgetting for only a split second the topic of our conversation.

A second later, I realize what I've done and prompt him to continue.

"Well," he says slowly, "like I said, it's not quite as bad as before."

"How so."

"We don't go around killing muggles for fun or anything like the Dark Lord did." He says it with such a lack of emotion I shiver a little.

"You cold?" he asks softly.

"No, I'm fine," I mumble. "Continue."

"Essentially," he says, "Father is interested in having the muggles work for him to... persuade... their fellow muggles that wizard kind is the better kind." I know I stiffen at this. "Father believes all this hiding nonsense they have us doing is utterly ridiculous, and I must say, I agree with that."

I make some sort of noncommittal noise that I hope displays comprehension.

"But he no longer wishes to kill them. That's only in cases of severe disruption to his plans."

I feel as though I should probably rinse out my ears. Or get my hearing checked. He can't possibly have said that.

"I haven't killed one, though," he says quickly. "At least, not since you know when."

I'm fairly certain I'm unable to speak.

"He just has me talk to the muggles he wants to work for them, give them orders, that sort of thing. Once in a while, he has me do some of the convincing." As I stiffen just a bit more, he adds, "But like I said, not as bad as it used to be."

I mutter another noise that feels slightly strangled in my throat.

A moment of utterly strange and almost incomprehensible silence passes.

He starts making small, delicate circles on my shoulders, in an exact spot that's been sore for a few days.

Against my better judgment, I relax into him just a little bit. Just enough to let him know it's working.

He continues massaging it slowly, then a little deeper, making me melt just a little more.

It's not long before I've forgotten all about wizarding political policies in the comfort of his arms.

* * *

This has never happened before. I'm cursing myself, virtually flying through corridors, quickening my pace all the more to make it to my desk.

"Granger," I hear from behind me just as my desk is within sight.

Slowly, wordlessly, I turn.

"You okay?" It's my boss, a balding and sweet-looking wizard with fading brown hair.

I straighten immediately. "Yes, Mr. Enshfield," I reply quickly. "Just running a little behind this morning."

"All right," he responds, giving me a small smile. "Just don't make a habit of it, hmm?"

"Of course not," I reply very confidently. "Won't happen again."

He nods, turning away.

I slow my pace, groaning again at myself.

I've no idea what happened this morning. I knew what time it was. I was perfectly and completely in control of what time it was and how long I had to arrive here. And then, suddenly, it was just past time.

It was those lips, and those hands, and... I shake my head to bring myself back to the present.

All the wizarding tricks in the world don't make you on time when you're late before you use them.

I suppose that's a lesson learned.

* * *

I'm on site today with a teenage witch whose parents are out of town.

When I read that on the paperwork, with all the little hearts over the i's and the curly cues everywhere in the writing, I almost burst out laughing immediately.

She's a tall, thin girl who might well be a model and I presume also must go to Hogwarts during the school year. She has dark brown hair that's short and straight and dark, almost piercing eyes. She wears a lot of make-up and very tight clothes.

This girl and I would not have been the closest of friends.

"Missy Parkinson," she says, extending a hand to me, bent perfectly at the wrist.

I take the offered hand, giving her the delicate shake she requests at the same time I fight cringing. I must not have looked over the name too carefully. How was I to know Pansy Parkinson had relatives? How was I to know anything at all about that wench?

"Hermione Granger," I respond, hoping she doesn't recognize the name.

I think I detect a slight lift in the delicate curve of her left eyebrow, but she says nothing about it. "You're here with the ministry, then?" she asks curtly.

"Yes I am," I respond, all business. "Can you explain to me exactly what happened?"

"It's on the paper," she says in a distinctly condescending tone.

"I realize that," I say, "but it's just procedure."

"Right then," she says quickly. "So last night, I decided to have a party." Could this get any more cliche? "It was one of the best parties any of my Hogwarts friends had ever seen," she added, clearly pleased with herself.

"Since we're all legal now, we decided to have a party to celebrate, and we definitely celebrated." I get the distinct feeling I really don't want to know.

I give her a mildly pointed look.

"So anyway," she says, "in order to make the whole thing a big success, we needed to, well, make some space."

She motions me into the front room, where I find an expanse of a room likely larger than the Great Hall. I can tell by the spaces between the furniture and the odd shapings of a few of the corners that this room was not designed to be this size.

"And exactly how large should this room be?" I ask.

"Oh, I don't know," she replies coyly. "About half this?" I ignore the conspiratorial look in her eyes. "You have to keep up appearances, you know," she says airily.

"Hm," I respond. "Is this all?"

"Oh, no," she replies with that same airiness. "There's also a Perma-Flow fountain installed in the kitchen that wasn't drained quite right," as I note the water seeping from one of the grandiose doors, "a beautiful display of live doves that we apparated here but couldn't quite find out how to release without causing a stir," as I noted the curious flapping of wings from a room to my left, "a beautiful array of full-size palm trees in the sitting room that might just be stubborn about leaving..."

My mind fades out as she describes the rest in exact detail, but it comes back with the words,

"Oh, and I almost forgot. The exotic muggle dancer we tied in the closet."

At my look of shock, she smirks. "We were thinking maybe a memory charm?"

* * *

**A/N: So sorry for how long it takes me to update. Really, I am. Let me know what you think, though. Thanks!**


	11. Nice

**Disclaimer: So, my name is not J.K. Rowling. Hence, not mine. Such is life...

* * *

**

I'm quite certain that was one of the most despicable days of my career.

I shiver just thinking about it.

Draco wraps his arms a little tighter around me. "Perhaps I should look into my heating around here, hm?"

I giggle against my better judgment. _Since when did I giggle?_

"I'm okay," I say aloud. "Just thinking of an incredibly awkward moment today at work is all."

"Oh?" he says, shifting. "What happened?"

"Missy Parkinson."

He appears confused, and with good reason.

"You know her?" I ask.

"Of her, yes," he responds slowly. "What was the issue?"

I sigh deeply. "I suppose she and a few friends decided to impress people with their grandiose abode that they couldn't shrink again, a Perma-flow fountain they couldn't figure out how to stop or drain, a whole crop of live doves they didn't know what to do with..." I continue through the list as Missy herself had, pausing only slightly before adding, "Oh, and of course, the exotic muggle dancer they'd tied in the closet."

Draco's eyes widen, and I can tell he's holding in his laughter.

"It's not that funny," I mumble, even as I try to withhold my own smile. "That poor bloke was all tied up and scared to death and just sitting there, helpless, in these ridiculous-looking knickers..."

With that, Draco's laughter abruptly refuses to shush itself.

I join him, try as I might not to. "Can you imagine, though?" I say, attempting to be serious again. "All the memory charms in the world probably couldn't have quite erased the trauma of that experience for him."

"Yes, of course," says Draco, forcing down his chuckle. "He'll forever be wary of extremely gorgeous young women in packs and never fully know why."

After a pause, he adds, "No, wait. That's every bloke on the planet."

With that, he ceases all attempts to not find humor at mine and that poor bloke's expense, and I spend a good part of the afternoon laughing in his arms.

* * *

"So how long has it been now?"

I take a sip of my water and ponder Ginny's question. How long _have _I been involved with Malfoy?

"I'm not sure, really," I reply. "About a month and a half?"

"Wow," she says. "Serious yet?"

I look away, blushing I'm sure. "Of course not," I say, too quickly.

"When's the last time you went home?"

At all?

When the silence has gone on too long, she gives a short laugh and a shake of her head. "Girl, you're hooked," she jokes.

"No, I'm not," I claim defensively. "It's just... easier..." I trail off.

"To be there already instead of having to actually get up and leave to get there?"

I notice I refuse to meet her eyes. I'm hoping she doesn't.

She laughs again, ducking her head to meet them. Shoot. "It's okay, I understand," she says. "I'm sort of the same way with Blaise right now?"

"Really?" I say, feigning just a bit more interest than actual for sake of the subject change.

"Yeah..." she says, and I notice Ginny Weasley herself blush.

I pause long enough for her to fill the silence.

"Okay, so we're sort of... involved..." she says. "As in, really, sort of involved..."

"Descriptive, Gin," I reply. "Nicely done."

She laughs. "Well," she says, switching positions to be more in line with me. This is when she always gets really into the conversation. "We were talking the other day, and he actually opened up to me."

"Really?"

"Yeah, we just started talking about the war, and everything that happened, and he just... you know, Hermione, it really wasn't so easy on their side either."

"I know," I concede quietly. Not a thought I like to have.

"So anyway, he talked about all sorts of things, and we sort of just stayed up the whole night... talking."

"Talking?"

"Yeah. Just... _talking_. No snogging, just cuddling. I don't know." She shrugs. "It was nice."

"Aww, Ginny, that's sweet," I say. I secretly wish Malfoy and I do that a little more often.

"Yeah, it is," she says, shrugging again, almost shyly. "It's really nice."

* * *

"So how are my darling mate and your darling mate doing?" Draco asks as he approaches me from behind, nuzzling my neck suggestively.

I shrug him off just a bit, just because it tickles. "Well," I respond. "They seem to be actually getting rather close."

"As I've noticed," he says, running his hands along my sides. "It's about time."

"What do you mean?" I ask, turning to face him.

Kissing me, he says, "Just that it's been a while for Blaise, is all."

"A while since...?"

He shrugs, and I notice his eyes take on that guarded look I've come to know so well.

So instead of making him answer, I run my hands along his sides in return. I cup my hands around his face, and I pull his face to mine. I kiss him fully, completely, as though I need him just to be able to take my very next breath.

And even as he guides me by the hand back to the confines of his room, I begin to wonder just how true that might be.

* * *

**A/N: I'm so, so sorry to everyone who reads this. If there's anyone who still does... Anyway, yeah. It's been an unacceptable amount of time since I updated. But since this story has sort of personal implications that I need to just be done with, I've decided I'm going to finish it. And somewhat soon, I hope. So yes, updates should come quickly. **

**Review?**


	12. Wasn't Supposed to Happen

**Disclaimer: No more mine than it was when I updated the last time. Shame.**

* * *

All I know for sure of the time is that it's dark outside.

It's dark outside, and we've been kissing for a long time.

I'm not sure when he gets brave enough to delve under the fabric of my shirt. I'm not sure when I tell him it's okay.

I'm not sure why I do so, given I promised myself it would never happen.

We had this conversation, a few nights ago. About how I'd done these sorts of things before, and I didn't want them to happen again. He agreed, and though I'm sure he doesn't think the same for himself, he agreed to help me. He even suggested giving me strength to resist.

So I'm not sure how, in this moment, I find myself exploring the lining of his pants. I'm not sure why I'm exploring just below, and then a little below again.

I'm not sure why, after everything we've discussed and the myriad of times I've told myself this wouldn't happen, it's happening.

It's happening now, and I'm instigating, and at this exact moment, I could swear it's everything I ever wanted.

And even as it happens, even as I go that last inch farther, even as I feel his response to me, I know it's a bad idea.

This is such a bad idea.

* * *

In the light of day, it's difficult to believe last night happened.

I remember it all, in glistening detail, as I always do. We were kissing, then kissing more, then someone got an idea in a head somewhere within the time, and then we were no longer just kissing.

It's what happens all the time.

This is the part where I get disappointed. It's the part where I tell myself it'll never happen again. On principle, just because I don't want to be _that girl_, this will never happen again. Next time, I will be stronger. Next time, I won't push it. Next time will be different.

I'm distracted. I'm at work, looking at this file about some random bloke in southern London who decided it'd be a grand idea to turn a bench just within the train station into a portkey. A portkey that, unfortunately, some poor old woman decided to seat herself upon just in the middle of a rush to meet the farthest-reaching train in the country. Hence, here I am. Trying to concentrate on each individual person and each individual destination and find each individual address so I can go and modify each individual mind, including that poor old woman.

Under normal circumstances, it might be a little more amusing. It might be a little more like something I'd be interested in. I'd be delving quickly and decisively into the work I need to do, and I'd be loving every moment.

Now, though, I just can't quite seem to do so. I just keep thinking about that stupid bloke, and that stupid idea, and just how stupid some people can be.

Sometimes people should just watch where they sit.

* * *

"Wait, you..." Ginny appears confused.

"Yes," I say impatiently. "I already told you."

"But you said-"

"I know," I say. "I know, I know, I know. And sometimes, things just..." I struggle to find my words. "Sometimes things just don't work out the way we think they will, is all. Sometimes they just--don't. "

She nods. "Okay then," she says. "So have you talked?"

"About?"

She gives me a pointed look. "You know very well what about, Hermione Granger," she says.

I sigh deeply.

"Of course not," I say.

"Oh yes, of course," she supplies sarcastically. "Who needs conversation when there's sex?"

"It wasn't--"

"I know," she says, cutting me off. "I know, I know. It wasn't _sex_. Just... whatever it is you call it. But still, Hermione, don't you think you owe him, you know, something? Some sort of where this is going... _something_?"

I sigh again and look away. "I suppose," I say quietly. "If he wants that."

"And you never know," she replies, just as quietly. "He might."

And yes, of course, she's right. He might.

He just wasn't _supposed_ to, is all. That wasn't part of the plan.

* * *

He's getting his shoes on to go on some sort of errand for his father, and he calls me over to him.

I find myself crouching in front of him sitting on my knees, face to face with him. His knees are on either side of me, and my hands run along the sides of his legs.

It hits me that we do this like we've done it forever.

Then again, I suppose we have been doing it for quite a while.

"You know," he starts, and I sense the tone. I brace myself for that talk.

His voice is so sweet.

"Hermione," he says, after a deep breath, "I really do think I'm starting to fall for you."

I take a shaky breath, even though I knew to expect the words.

"What I mean to say is, I think I'm in love with you."

He sounds so vulnerable at this moment. He sounds vulnerable, and exposed, and like nothing I ever expected from him.

This so wasn't supposed to happen.

* * *

**A/N: See, I promised a quicker update! And I even followed through... who knows, I may even have another sometime soon. Crazy, isn't it?**

**Review?  
**


	13. Not Sure

**Disclaimer: JK owns them. I'm, unfortunately, not JK. Do your own math. =p**

* * *

I find myself at a total loss for words.

This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to fall in love with me. It wasn't supposed to go like that.

"Draco, I..." I start.

Seeing the sweet look in his eyes that I've grown so accustomed to seeing over the past few weeks, I sigh.

"I just..."

His eyes take on a slightly guarded look even within the vulnerability.

I sigh yet again. "Draco, I just.. can't."

"I understand," he says softly.

"No, it's really not like it seems," I say quickly. "It's just... for myself, I can't... I can't date someone who's involved in the sorts of things you're involved in."

He nods.

"I just can't be involved with that sort of magic, or those sorts of... forms of persuasion."

He nods again, looking slightly away.

"Yeah," he whispers, "you're right."

I don't say anything for a moment, processing.

"I'm done."

At these words, I jerk my head suddenly to face his again.

"What?"

"I'm done." He sets his jaw in a final line. "You don't like it, and I understand why. And I agree. It's been going on for far too long, and there are other things I can do."

I nod slowly, more in understanding than in agreement.

"So," he said again, his tone final, "I'm done."

And for the second time today, I don't know what to say.

* * *

I'm not sure how I feel about his decision.

I'm not sure if I believe him. I'm not sure what I'm going to say, and I'm not sure how all of this is going to work out.

After he finishes his errand for his father, we're back in his flat. We're together, on his sofa, and he's holding me.

I start talking.

"Hey Draco..." I say quietly.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Are you sure about..."

"Of course," he says, knowing exactly what I'm going to say. He always seems to know what I'm going to say.

I nod, slowly.

I don't know if I believe him. I don't know if I even really want to. I don't know how far I want to go or how much I really want to be involved in all of this, and all I really know at this moment, in this time, here with him, that this was all it was supposed to be.

It was just supposed to be him, being, well, whoever he wanted to be. And it was supposed to be me, being me. And for whatever amount of time we wanted it to continue, we were just supposed to be, well, sort of there.

We were supposed to kiss, any time we wanted to. We were supposed to cuddle, just because it felt good. We were supposed to joke around, and we were supposed to play, and we were just supposed to just... be.

We weren't supposed to be serious. We weren't supposed to be real. We were just supposed to be, well, just...

But now his lips are back on mine. His hands are roaming along my sides. I can tell, in some vague capacity, that we're about to go farther again. I can tell he's about to take a next step.

We weren't supposed to take that step either.

But right now, in this moment we're in, when there's so much more to consider and so many things going on that have so much more of a potential to be so much more serious than I really want to get into, this is just...

It just feels so good.

It feels so right.

It feels so, just so natural.

I can't help it. It's just natural.

* * *

I can feel myself being pulled in.

It builds, really. I can feel myself, each day we see each other, wanting the next time to come in a little bit closer succession. I can feel us getting closer, feeling more for one another, letting one another just a little farther in.

I can feel myself missing him.

Like right now.

I'm at work again. Last night was wonderful, as always. It shouldn't have happened, as always. I violated my morals again, and I'm fighting to care again. I'm trying to remember why I have the morals I have. Why I started with the ones I had. Why it is exactly that I want those to stick around. Why exactly I don't want to be pulled in.

I'm working on the portkey project. The woman, fortunately, has a bit of a sketchy memory anyway, so she likely doesn't even notice the modifications I did to it. Luckily enough, she also doesn't have any horrible health problems to mention, so the shock didn't harm her too very much.

Of course, there are the people around the scene, as per usual. There are still the little pieces I need to pick up before I wrap the whole deal. There are still the muggle tabloids to deal with, as there always are.

I'm not sure why I'm not as into this as I used to be. I'm not sure why I don't feel as thorough as I used to feel. I'm not sure why I don't much care about whether people have suspicions, and I don't much care about making it the easiest on them I can possibly make it. I'm not sure why I'm just, well, here.

I'm not sure why in some ways, I'd rather be with him. I'm not sure what's going on with me.

I'm not sure why I miss him so much.

I'm not sure why I'm falling so fast.

* * *

"I don't know, mate, I guess I'm just... over it."

"Over it?" Draco asks.

"Yeah," Blaise replies. "You know, she's fun for a while. Feisty and everything. She's kind of exciting at first. But now?" He shrugs. "It's just the same old, same old. You know how I am."

"I know," Draco says, holding me a little tighter. I'm not exactly sure when I became part of their little musings. I'm not exactly sure how I feel about this particular topic anyway.

"She's just... annoying."

Blaise crinkles his nose a bit, and Draco offers him a small laugh in response.

"Are you sure about this?" I cut in. Blaise and I don't know one another exceptionally well, but we've grown to know a lot of one another over the past few weeks.

"What do you mean?" he questions.

"I mean, she's a great girl," I say in Ginny's defense.

"Yeah, sure," Blaise allows.

"And she clearly likes you."

"Clearly."

"And you're just going to let that go?"

He shrugs again. "Well, yeah," he says. It doesn't seem to bother him much.

"You were both so close. You were so close to each other. You were starting to bond, and now you're just done?"

I can't quite wrap my head around this.

Blaise nods as though my questions are insignificant. The coldness in his eyes seems, to me, almost fabricated. It's as though she's gotten too close, and now she must be put away. She must be cast aside. He's allowed her to see too much, too quickly.

"Done, Hermione."

"Right."

Just... done.

* * *

Later, Draco and I discuss this conversation. We talk about how both of us quite agree that Blaise simply let her get too close. There was too much going on. He got scared, and he ran. He's had too many close calls with too many people, and it's just too close for him.

The funniest part in this conversation is that, within this moment, I don't consider that this will ever happen to us. I don't consider just how cold it is to completely let go of someone, out of thin air, and expect it to all be okay just because you want it to be.

I don't consider that Draco and I might actually end, in the spur of a moment, just as what I've seen. I don't see that he'll hurt me.

I don't see anything at all.

And that, as I look back on this moment from a perspective much later in life, is just my problem.

I just don't see. I'm just too fluid. I just don't have a clear grasp on anything, really, in this moment.

My views are no longer quite so clearly my views. My own thoughts are no longer so clearly my thoughts. My entire being is no longer quite so concrete, and this world, this fantasy type world where morals don't quite exist and people can do pretty much exactly as they see fit, is at the exact center of all of it.

I should probably try to find out when this happened. I should probably, at this moment in this story, take time to figure it all out. To think about what's happening to me and what could possibly be done to prevent it.

But at the moment, I'm not sure. I'm just plain not sure.

* * *

**A/N: So, update. Yay? Reviews, please?**


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